


Shot Of Glory

by casstayinmyass



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Country Music, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Road Trips, Secret Crush, Teenage Losers, mention of smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: The Losers head out to Wyoming in Bill's dad's station wagon for a country festival graduation trip from high school. The crush that Richie's had on Eddie since they were kids is virtually impossible to keep inside anymore, but telling him terrifies Richie to no end- another shot of whiskey might help his courage.





	Shot Of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song, "Shot of Glory" by The Washboard Union.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oR_E2CCu2o

None of the Losers expected they would be spending their meticulously planned summer grad trip on the road to a country music festival. Except for Ben and Bev and Mike, who all kind of enjoyed the genre. Eddie had been the tipping vote as to whether or not they'd be spending their grad trip in Wyoming or Universal Studios (or Vegas as Richie had pitched, except what the fuck were a bunch of 17 year olds going to do in Las Vegas?). The only reason Eddie voted for the country festival was that he remembered how many germs were on everything in a park like Universal Studios, and completely squicked out at the idea of touching all those safety bars, which he would inevitably be clinging onto for dear life. They only really had enough money put together for the hotel only in Orlando anyway.

* * *

_Yeah the boys round here,_

_Drinkin' that ice cold beer, talkin' bout girls, talkin' bout trucks, running them red dirt roads out kickin' up dust-_

"Will someone put some other shit on?" Richie called from the backseat of Bill's dad's old station wagon, "We'll have to suffer through this at the festival, no point in torturing our ears with it now!"

"Some people like this music," Mike said from the shotgun seat, turning it up, and Richie rolled his eyes, bending his knees and putting his feet up on the back of the driver's side seat.

"Where are we now Ben, Buttfuck Nowhere? You're the geography expert, aren't you?"

"History," Ben reminded for the millionth time over the past five years he had known Richie.

"Same shit, yada yada. Just tell me where you can get some decent cigarettes and a pie I can throw in Eddie's face for voting us out here instead of checking out the new Incredible Hulk ride at-"

"Beep beep Richie," Bill said, gripping the steering wheel, "And get your f-f-feet off the seat, my dad's gonna k-kill me."

"Yeah, that's so gross, so fucking unsanitary," Eddie muttered from beside him, and Richie made a face at him.

"I'm actually with Richie," Bev said slowly, "It would be nice to stop for a while, and I could use a cigarette myself."

"We'll f-find a place to pull off," Bill said, "Anyone got a m-map?"

"Yeah, it's up Eddie's mom's ass," Richie joked, and Eddie hit him, prompting Bev to sigh beside them.

"I'm hungry," Stan commented.

"Don't you have, like, a bajillion granola bars packed away in there?" Eddie asked.

"No, it was either those or the birdfeed, and how am I supposed to birdwatch without anything to attract birdfeed?"

"Well, you could just... not bird watch like a nerd?" Richie shrugged.

"Oh, well you could always take your suggestions, Richie, and jam them up your-"

"Would you l-l-losers shut up?!" Bill blurted, "Jesus Christ, we've b-been out on the road for not even a day and you two are about to k-kill each other!"

"I think we all need some air," Ben commented.

They pulled over at the next gas station they saw, and everyone pretty much ran to the bathroom.

"Hey Bev," Richie murmured as they headed into the station, "Wanna hijack the car and run off to Maui?"

"Maui?" she smirked, "I thought you wanted to go to Vegas."

"Anything's better than this flat, barren desert of nothing."

"We'll be at the festival soon." She nudged him. "Come on Tozier- do it for Eddie." She smiled at him, and Richie sucked in a breath. _Do it for Eddie._

Bev, Bill and Mike were the only ones who knew about his crush on Eddie. Beverly totally had his back without being pushy about it- the other Losers were stupidly oblivious, but it was okay with Richie if his secret was kept under wraps for as long as possible.

But yeah. He could do it for Eds.

"Hi," Beverly smiled at the gas station attendant. The guy stopped chewing on his gum and looked her up and down.

"Well hey there, pretty little lady. What can I get ya?"

"Pack of Marlboro Reds and a pack of menthols."

"Hoooee!" the guy chuckled, "You're a chimney, through and through, eh?!"

"They're for her mother," Richie supplied helpfully, and Beverly blinked innocently, "She's too sick to get out of bed."

"Heaven knows why," the guy snorted, and rang them through. "Sorry for the formality, but I'm gonna need to get your ID."

"Oh, sure..." She reached for her back pocket, and threw her hands up. "Shoot, must've left it in the car. Gimme a second?"

"Alrighty."

Richie shook his head as Bev jogged out. "She's so forgetful. She's forget her head if it wasn't attached to her shoulders! Hey, while you're waiting, can you grab me another one of those I Heart Wyoming hats from the back? I'm just in love with them."

The guy shrugged, and went off to the back. As Beverly had taught him, Richie quickly stuffed the two packs in his pockets and took off... not before nabbing the display hat off the shelf. He made it to the car, tossed the Marlboros to Beverly and kept the menthols for himself.

"Go," Bev said, kissing Ben on the cheek, and Bill started the car as the guy came back.

"Hey! Hey, y'all wait!"

"You're so stupid, Richie," Stan muttered as they sped off, crossing his arms.

"I think I'm a master thief," Richie said in his British accent, and Eddie smiled a little to himself as Richie plopped the I Heart Wyoming hat on his friend's head backward.

"For you, Spaghetti Man. Red just isn't my colour."

Eddie looked away, and when no one was looking, switched the hat around so that it was facing forward.

* * *

"Okay okay, uh... would you rather turn into Donald Duck every time someone said your name, or have Pee Wee Herman narrate your life?" Richie asked, and Ben burst out laughing.

"They're both so bad."

"Yeah, honestly who would pick either?" Stan asked, and Richie shrugged.

"You've gotta pick one."

"Donald Duck," Mike weighed in, "Definitely Donald."

"Not P-pee Wee?" Bill smirked.

"I'd straight up murder that guy."

"If you turned into Donald Duck all the time, I'd break up with you," Stan pursed his lips.

"Stan, I didn't know you were so materially inclined," Bev acted shocked.

"Yeah, I'm hurt babe," Mike put a hand over his heart, and Stan shook his head.

"I am not dating a duck."

"Wouldn't be so bad," Richie said, "You could quack really loudly... Eds, what would you do?"

"I'd like to have you narrating my life," Eddie huffed, "Your mouth already runs a mile a minute, might as well use it to document something useful."

"I would be honoured, sir," Richie grinned, and Eddie blushed, looking away. Richie swallowed. Was he trying too hard? Fuck, he was probably giving himself away... He ran a hand through his hair, hoping his anxiety wouldn't get the better of him. Ben looked at him inquisitively, but Richie didn't quite feel like talking anymore.

* * *

The next day, after shelling out half of their crumpled up bills they had all saved for the past two years and dumping their stuff at a creepy motel that smelled like bad yogurt and moth balls, they were almost at the festival grounds. Country music was blaring through their speakers, and Bev sang along with Mike, Ben, and a shy Eddie. Even Bill found himself humming along to the tunes, and Richie and Stan discovered they were joined by their mutual hatred of this genre of music.

Soon, the first night of the festival arrived. Favourites of the group like Dierks Bentley, Luke Bryan, Chris Young, and the Zac Brown Band graced the stage, and Richie found that he was enjoying himself a little more now that he wasn't cramped up in the car and could channel his energy into something else.

Currently, the Zac Brown Band was performing a popular song of theirs, "Sweet Annie." Mike and Stan were sitting with each other on a couple of chairs to the side of the bar, giggling about something, and Ben and Beverly were out on the floor, slow dancing. Ben was singing to Bev softly, and though he didn't have the best voice ever, Beverly found everything her boyfriend did to be incredibly sweet and romantic. Her head rested on Ben's shoulder as they rocked together to the music, and she looked over to see Bill dancing with some girl he had found with blonde hair and cowboy boots. Her gaze shifted, and she saw Eddie drinking from a bottle of water, with Richie staring at him, enthralled Nd tapping his knee, a few paces away. Every time one would look at the other, the other would look away. 

* * *

That night at the motel, everyone paired up for beds, because they couldn't afford one for each. Mike and Stan, Ben and Bev, and that left... Bill, Eddie, and Richie.

"I can take the couch..." Richie said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No no," Bill smirked, the tall brunette teen giving Richie a meaningful look, "Y-you two go ahead."

"You won't even be able to fit on the couch Bill, your legs are like mile-long stringbeans!" Richie protested, feeling his face heat up.

"N-no, it's fine. The couch is closer to the w-w-window. I like to, uh... see the stars." Bill kept on smirking. 

"You sappy weirdo," Richie muttered, and Eddie headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed. In the meantime, Richie settled under the covers, taking deep breaths in and out.

He could do this. Of course he could do this! He had grown up with Eddie, ever since they had met in friggin' kindergarten! A billion sleepovers had been spent sharing a sleeping bag with Eddie, Eddie sleeping on his lap, Eddie falling asleep on his shoulder during long car rides to baseball practice, anything and everything for years... so why was it so awkward now? He took off his glasses, placing them on the night table, and rubbed his eyes.

Richie felt his heart skip a beat as the door to the bathroom opened, the crack of light illuminating the dark motel room temporarily before the light was flicked off. Eddie felt his way to the bed-- it wasn't even that small a bed, they both had plenty of space-- and got in.

"Hey Eds," Richie whispered.

"Hey Rich," Eddie whispered back, then paused. "Don't call me that."

"Sorry, spaghetti man. You enjoying the festival?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty fun."

"Yeah..." Richie murmured. He didn't want to stop talking, because that would mean laying there beside each other in silence, wondering what the other person was thinking.

"Watchya thinkin' about, Eds?" Richie whispered. Eddie spent a long time thinking, so long that Richie thought he'd fallen asleep. Then he spoke up.

"How happy I am to be on this trip, Rich."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. It's nice to be away from home for a while... it's refreshing not to have someone watching me all day every day, seeing if I'm just gonna fall apart in front of their eyes." Another pause. "I'm not that fragile, you know?"

"Yeah," Richie offered, not able to think of anything else to say. His home life was the opposite of Eddie's and both boys knew it. Richie's parents didn't care about anything he did, sort of like Bill's, Ben's, and... well, pretty much any of them except for Eddie. But Richie's parents not only didn't care, but frequently made it clear how happy they'd be once he got his "freak little ass out of their house where he can go bother someone else." That's one thing Richie didn't keep from his friends... he didn't know where he'd be if he couldn't share that.

"Rich? You awake?"

"Yeah, Eds."

"S-s-shut up!" Bill called, "If you two don't m-mind, some of us want some sleep!"

"Yeah, keep it down Felix and Oscar," Mike joked. A few more seconds ticked by.

"I sure hope these sheets are cleaned really fucking well daily," Eddie whispered as quietly as he could to Richie, "I'm wearing my favourite red shorties and I don't want old semen all over them."

Richie squeezed his eyes shut.

_Fuck._

* * *

The next night of the festival was the perfect night. Starry sky, stage lit up by the moon, it was gorgeous. A couple of songs in, and Richie was getting the jitters all over again. Being this close to Eddie for such a long time was exhilarating, but for some reason, nerve wracking. He had known his friend their entire lives... what was his deal? 

He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

The Washboard Union took the stage, and began to play a few of their songs, before they started up a song called "Shot

Of Glory." Beverly's eyes lit up, and she dragged everyone to the floor except for Richie, who headed over to the bar. Shots? Good plan.

Praise be, Richie wasn't carded, as his hair fell into his eyes and he had aged fast with his high cheekbones and growth spurt after hitting 15, so he ordered a "beer" at first.

"What kind of beer?"

"A boilermaker."

"That's... not a beer."

"It's a drink, though. Pip pip, and tally ho good fellow!" he clapped. The guy just gave him the evil eye, but went to get the drink ready.

Boy shit, a boilermaker was not what Richie was expecting, and halfway through the song, he was well on his way to getting tanked. Looking over at his small little Eddie attempting to dance as gracefully as Beverly, Richie's heart ached, and he admired his best friend. He looked so good tonight, in those high socks, shorts, and pink shirt riding up the barely noticeable V of his hips and light snail trail... Eddie looked up, going red at the fact that Richie was watching him fail at dancing, and Richie's heart stopped as Eddie's brown eyes met his. The alcohol wasn't the only thing making him weak.

_It's a Friday night, like any other, you walk in I stare and I stutter, every single time you look at me._

Richie wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and finished off the last of the boilermaker. Eddie looked so good... he needed to lie down... but also, he needed to dance. What was that word, dance? Hmm... thinking is a strange thing. Fuzzy, fuzzy, music sounds good, huh... why hadn't Eddie or any of those other losers introduced him to country music sooner? Eddie, Eddie, Eddie Spaghetti. He was beautiful, and silence was not something Richie was good at.

"Good sir! Beer me a whiskey," Richie slurred, trying not to sound like the inexperienced, lightweight of a 17 year old that he was. The bartender eyed him warily, but grabbed a bottle as Richie's fingers drummed nervously on the bar, leg jostling restlessly.

_I need a fix of True Companion, Jimmy Beam, or Old Jack Daniels, something strong to stop these shaking knees._

"Eddie!" Richie called, walking out onto the dance floor.

_Drinking up my courage, whiskey for my nerves_

Eddie lifted his chin, and Richie's head spun.

_Got me drunk on your short summer dress, powder room ballerina, I'm gonna need another shot of glory, ain't no turning back..._

"Hi Richie. Enjoying your, um... whiskey, I think?"

"No," Richie made a face, spitting it out, and Eddie stifled a giggle, trying to hold him up.

"You're an idiot when you're drunk, you know that?"

"I think Stan would agree with you," Richie replied.

"I think everyone would agree with me," Eddie retorted, smiling, and Richie physically gasped.

_You got me high on your tipsy smile and your hips all swingin'_

"Dance with me, Eds," Richie blurted, and Eddie's eyes widened as Richie began to dip him. He soon fell into the groove of the song, and the world spun around them. 

_We start spinnin', spinnin', spinnin'_

Stumbling away in a moment of sobriety, the taller teenager blushed hard and pushed up his glasses, looking around.

"Where's... uh, Bill?"

"I think he's still with that blonde cowgirl chick he was with earlier," Eddie mused, and turned to peer behind him. He noticed a blue pickup truck, and Bill and the girl making out inside of it. "Oh yup. Definitely is."

They stood there for a second, looking slightly out of place on the dance floor.

"How many of these "whiskeys" did you have?" Eddie asked.

"Oh... enough."

"Maybe you should get to bed-"

"Eddie Kaspbrack?" Richie stood up straight as best he could, and felt everything good swirl around him- the laughter, the lively music, the dancing, the smiles of his closest friends as they had the time of their lives. He felt the confidence surge through him. "You... y'know something?"

"What?"

"Eddie Kaspbrack, I've loved you since the day we met."

Eddie stopped, lips parting. Richie felt some part of his brain flashing off, telling him to retreat, back to the motel maybe, the grand canyon possibly on the other side of America to fling himself into, anywhere, just to run, but the other part kept him rooted there.

"Richie..." Eddie said softly, looking down. Richie braced himself for the rejection by closing his eyes, but he almost flipped his shit when he felt two smaller hands on the sides of his face, cupping it as soft lips met his. Sudden gasps resounded from their friends, and Richie opened his eyes to see a (blurry) Eddie grinning up at him.

"You're a dumbass and I love you too," he said, and Richie let out a cry of victory, pumping his fist up. This resulted in a huge group hug, with Richie probably kissing Eddie in the middle of it again, and the band played the last note of the song. Richie broke free, grabbed his glass of whiskey again and took a sip, then got on stage, taking the mic from them.

"I'd like to thank the Washboard Union and the State of Wyoming!" Richie called, raising his glass, and toppled off the stage with a crash.

"Fucking hell," Eddie muttered.

"Hey... is anyone gonna pay this kid's tab?" the bartender called out in irritation. Beverly looked over, and bit her lip, kissing Ben and whispering something to him. Then she approached the bar with a charming smile, and leaned against it.

"Hey there. Has anyone ever told you you look just like Clark Kent?"


End file.
